


Melted

by ProcrastinateLater



Series: For Brooklyn [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dancing, Fluff, Grinding, Limousines, M/M, Matching Everyone, Matching Tuxs, Mild Language, prom au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 10:17:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2769383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProcrastinateLater/pseuds/ProcrastinateLater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where it's prom night at Trost High and everyone's in their prime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Melted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brooklantis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brooklantis/gifts).



> Created for the ever-wonderful Brooklyn in the vain attempt to do something nice for you for your birthday. I hope it's an amazing one.  
> I had to rewrite basically all of this today because my computer had a seizure and shut down before i got a chance to save, deleting everything except 600 words.

It smells like cheap beer and hormones in here. This, of course, is because that’s exactly what is in here. Along with the nice ass limousine Eren and Mikasa’s father (or in her case, adopted father) rented, he had sent them a couple of hundred’s with a note that read: “Go wild. Don’t get arrested. –Dad”. This, I took it, was to mean: “I’m sorry I more or less abandoned you two after your mother died. I am paying you off.” When I had expressed these thoughts to the two of them they both agreed, Eren laughing while Mikasa nodded. Naturally, they used this to buy beer for the lot of us and pocketed the rest.  
The scent of hormones was due to the twelve teenagers stuffed into the back of said nice ass limousine. Technically being eighteen still counted as being a teenager, right? The idea of being an adult made me shudder.  
The range of drunkenness among us ranges from “practically no alcohol in their system” (Marco) to “they’re not going to be able to walk out of the fucking gym” (Connie). The rest of us were scattered in between, most still towards the former.  
My fingers were loosely entangled with Marco’s as we sat in the very back part of the vehicle, dictating that we were the ones driving backwards. He gave mine a light squeeze, calling my attention to him (not that it ever really left him for too long). The look on his face blatantly expressed what I’m sure everyone here (including Annie, with her ever-stoic expression) was feeling.  
I’m unable to put my finger on just what about this night made people feel so free and alive. I’d like to think that it’s like we see that the end of suffering is near, and we’re celebrating because we don’t know what is in store for us from here on. Whatever it is, it feels fucking great.  
It’s prom night, and our high school career was coming to a close.  
I returned the look he gave me with a small smile, all the while marveling at how fucking adorable he looked right now. Leaning forward I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and when I pulled away he brought me back, pressing his lips against mine, grinning into the kiss.  
“Happy prom night,” he said  
“Happy prom night,” I agreed, giving him yet another kiss.

It wasn’t long before we pulled in front of the school, and one by one we exited Marco and I being the last to get out.  
We all stood in front of the limo and Ms. Zoe rushed us. Being the photography teacher, they always seemed to have their Nikon hanging from their neck, and tonight was no exception.  
“PHOTOS!” they screamed, snapping away at whatever angle they felt necessary (including one with all of our backs towards the camera, for whatever reason). We each gave them our phones so we’d have pictures of our own, and so they repeated the process with all twelve of our smartphones. After completing the last round of pictures, they handed us our respective devices and went on their way. We all gathered in a circle to examine their handiwork.  
And let me just say this: We are one hot group of people.  
Where the lot of us typically dressed like we crawled out of bed and went out, wearing sweats, hoodies, sweaters, and the likes, today we were all dressed to the nines, following (on Armin’s suggestion) the same color scheme consisting of (also on Armin’s suggestion) royal blue, black, and white. While each of us wore it a little differently, it fit each of us nicely.  
Including the matching tux’s Marco and I wore, the only variation being while he had pinned a blue rose to my jacket, I had pinned a white one on his.  
Like I said, we’re hot.  
We entered the school as a group and found a table large enough to accommodate the lot of us. In groups of two and three, everyone began making their way to the dance floor until it was just Marco and I left at the table. We were content to just sit there, hand-in-hand, watching our friends make asses out of themselves. It was particularly humorous to see Connie stumbling across the floor, dragging an amused looking Sasha behind him.  
Eventually, I decided that it was our turn to also make asses out of ourselves. I stood up, pulling Marco up with me, and together we wove our way through the mass of students. Some crappy pop song (by one of those boy bands Christa likes) was playing, but that didn’t stop us from jumping in with Eren, Mikasa, and Armin to dance.  
The song ended and seamlessly flowed into the next, and by the time this one ended the rest of our friends had gravitated towards the five of us, creating once more what Levi (call him Mr. Ackerman and he’ll have your head) likes to call the dreadful dozen. We, of course, quickly took a liking to this name and adopted it as our own.  
Let me just set the scene for you: Imagine a prom. No, it doesn’t actually need to be a prom, per, say. Just imagine any high school dance, really. Now imagine the students at said dance. Somewhere in this image in your mind, you’re seeing that group of people grinding on each other.  
That was us.  
And what a sight we were, the class’ only group of self-identified queers grinding on each other to a Nicki Minaj song. We were attracting quite a bit of attention, too, from our surrounding classmates. The stares we were receiving ranged from amused glances to looks of disgust from the very same bigots that have inhabited Trost High since freshman year. We paid them no heed for the most part (with the exception of Ymir flawlessly flicking the lot of them of from behind Christa). Apart from this, we really couldn’t be bothered with any of them.  
It all happened so smoothly that even I wasn’t completely aware of how it happened (perhaps with the transition of yet another song). One moment we were all just dancing and laughing, and the next I had my ass pressed against Marco’s dick (not an unfamiliar sensation, but that’s beside the point). He seemed a little bit shocked, to say the least (just like Armin when Eren appeared behind him), but quickly recovered, placing his hands on my hips. Slowly I began moving my hips in a circular motion, Marco’s hips matching my own. Around us our friends also assumed similar positions and began doing variations of the same dance, including Connie grinding on Sasha.  
We continued on like this for a while, shamelessly grinding on each other to the beat of Nicki’s “Only”. Towards the end of the song I turned to face Marco, bringing my hands up to rest on his shoulders, keeping my hips moving the entire time. I looked up at him to discover that his faced was flushed (as I supposed I probably was too), and like myself he was beginning to build up a sweat. At the end of the song I looked at Marco, and wordlessly (the music was much too loud to speak converse without shouting at the top of your lungs) agreed to head back to the table.  
Before sitting we each took off our jackets and hung them on the back of our chairs, better displaying our vests and complementing roses. We sat and settled in, our hands loosely joined, hanging in the empty space between our two chairs. He assumed our earlier task of watching our friends dance and have fun. I, on the other hand, took to watching an even better sight: Marco.  
I watched as he laughed at something happening out there (although I couldn’t bother to look for myself to see what), causing his entire face to scrunch up in the most adorable way possible. His freckles seemed to dance across his face as the lighting faded in and out, sliding across his face in a way that highlighted his very best features (all of them). The once thought I couldn’t get out of my head if I tried (why would I want to?) was something along the lines of: “My boyfriend is the cutest human being on this planet. My perfect Marco.”  
He turned to look at me and flushed upon seeing me staring at him. I smiled, and in return he flashed me one of his signature Marco grins that could make you melt upon seeing it. And I did, every time. I leaned forward and kissed him, then again, and again (it seemed like I couldn’t get enough of this kid). “I could go on like this forever,” I thought.  
That is, until the music’s volume lowered and Levi’s bored-sounding voice rose above it, blasting through the speakers at a volume you’d never want to hear his voice, causing me to pull away.  
“Dinner will be served in five minutes. Please find your seats.”  
I looked around for the source and saw Levi standing up by the DJ, trusting the microphone back into his hand before stomping off to god knows where. Although, if I had to guess, I’d say he was going to search for Ms. Zoe so that he could complain to her about anything and everything.  
As Levi’s announcement dictated, slowly but surely the rest of our dreadful dozen found their way back to our table and taking their seats. Not long after, the servers came around with the meal provided with the tickets: steak, potatoes, and assorted vegetables. Glasses of water were offered to us in addition to the other refreshments located on a table on the other side of the room. All in all, it was a good experience (well worth the $150 I paid for mine and Marco’s tickets).  
Sasha was the first to finish, and after being force-fed several glasses of water (thus sobering him up a bit) Connie came in at a close second, pushing his plate forward and unleashing a loud belch. I offered to trade my vegetables for Christa’s steak as she was a vegetarian and she quickly complied. Marco, miffed at me “not getting enough vitamins and nutrients”, forced me into eating half of his vegetables. I rolled my eyes at him, but did as he said.  
After we were all finished, the servers came back around to clear our dishes, quickly replacing them with small bowls of ice cream. Full, I handed mine to Marco (who I knew had a sweet tooth), who gave me a peck on the cheek in way of thanks before devouring both of the servings.  
Soon enough everyone was done eating and our classmates began returning to the dance floor. Everyone at our table opted to stay, making amiable conversation (along with the obligatory teasing) with each other. This was interrupted by the announcement (also by Levi) of prom king and queen, which was won by some straight couple that none of us really knew. I, personally, voted for Ymir and Christa (with Ymir as king, obviously), even though they weren’t exactly on the ballot. One can try, right?  
Following said announcement our group dispersed once more, some heading back to dance and others, like Marco and I, to the photo station to get pictures aside from the ones Ms. Zoe took. In this photo we stood in the standard prom-picture (with myself in front of Marco since I was shorter, albeit by an inch) and his arms wrapped around my waist.  
“Three, two, one, smile!” the cheery photographer instructed before taking the picture. I took out my wallet to pay for the pictures when Marco interrupted me.  
“You don’t have to pay for them,” he told me, trying to push my wallet back in my pocket.  
“Yeah, well I’m going to anyway,” I replied, smirking him and pulling my wallet back out. After a moment of arguing, I still ended up purchasing two wallets (one for each of us) and a 5x7 (my mom wants a picture). We waited for Bertolt and Reiner to pay for theirs before heading back to the table where we sat once more.  
The four of us people watched together now, occasionally making comments about our classmates and friends.  
“Jaeger looks like he’s having a seizure,” I noted aloud, pointing towards Eren violently moshing on the floor to the rock song playing, paired with Mikasa standing a safe distance away (making sure he didn’t hurt himself, most likely).  
Reiner snorted.  
The song changed again, and Mikasa had to grab Eren and stop his dancing (can moshing be called dancing?) to prevent him from attracting (even more) attention. I immediately recognized as the song “I Wanna Be Yours” by Arctic Monkeys, as they were one of my favorite bands. The song was slower, so obviously moshing would be inappropriate. I considered what would be considered appropriate…  
I stood up and turned to Marco, offering my hand out to him.  
“Marco Bodt, may I have this dance?” I asked, smiling down at him.  
He grinned right back up at me (making my knees go weak) before grabbing my hand and also standing up. “You may.”  
I led him through the throng of people until we found a spot that wasn’t too crowded. I turned to face him, wrapping my arms around his neck and he did the same to my waist. It didn’t take long for us to fall into a comfortable pattern of swaying back and forth with each other to the music. He brought his head down to rest in the crook of my neck, and I leaned my head on his, and we stayed like this for the first half of the song.  
“I’m gonna miss you, you know,” I stated abruptly.  
“Hmm?” he questioned, lifting his head. “I’m not going anywhere.”  
“No, not now,” I shook my head. “In a few months. I’m gonna miss you,” I said, referring to when he leaved for college.  
“It’s only two hours away,” he told me. Marco had been accepted for Maria University, and he leaves in July. I, on the other hand, would be attending Trost Community, which wasn’t fifteen minutes down the road.  
“Too far,” I mumbled, now burying my head in his chest.  
“Hey, look at me.” I complied, lifting my head to stare into his eyes. “It’s not going to change anything. We’re not going to change.” I grumbled.  
“I’m coming to see you every weekend.”  
“You better.”  
“And you better not get distracted by any other cute college boys,” I threatened.  
“I’ll wear a shirt every single day that says “Jean Kirschtein is my boyfriend and will kick your ass if you try.”  
“Damn fucking straight,” I said, pressing my lips to his. He kissed me back fully and without hesitation, his arms tightening around my waist to pull me closer. I was suddenly sideswiped by how much I loved him. It’s not as if I didn’t already know this, it’s just that sometimes the realization comes back to you again and again so that you never forget. I can’t say I’m complaining.  
“I love you,” I managed as I took a breath.  
“I love you, too,” he replied, kissing me once more. “Mmm, Jean,” he said, pulling back slightly.  
“Yeah?”  
“I wanna be yours.” My Marco.  
“Oh Marco,” I softly laughed. “Don’t you know?” He shook his head. “You already are.”  
He grinned.  
I melted.


End file.
